


See What Tomorrow Brings

by wordslinging



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Agron and Nasir survive the final battle of the rebellion. Afterward, along with a handful of companions, they face a final challenge--finding a place they can call home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See What Tomorrow Brings

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Spartacus Reverse Big Bang for slightly/suthnoli's mix "A Blaze of Coming Home". Tracklisting and Spotify link for the mix, which is wonderful, can be found [here](http://slightly.tumblr.com/post/54851524558/a-blaze-of-coming-home-agron-nasir-spartacus). Thanks to ciel_vert for betaing, and to the mods for running the challenge.
> 
> Some cursory research into ancient Germanic tribes and customs was done for this fic, but the "cursory" part of that should be stressed, and in places where the show contains inaccuracies (like, for example, people from different Germanic tribes speaking a unified German language), I've just thrown up my hands and gone with it.
> 
> Also, this story contains mentions of rape, torture, and abuse on a level that's pretty consistent with canon, though none of those things happen within the story itself.

Few words pass between them as they move through the camp. Agron is almost afraid to believe this reality, and not some fantasy his mind has slipped into to comfort itself in his last moments. It seems impossible that fate should grant him such kindness; first Spartacus bearing him up, guiding him with slow, careful steps, and then a touch Agron would know at once even if he were blind, both strong and gentle, and a face he thought he'd taken his last sight of in this world.

He leans on Nasir's shoulder, too weary to do anything but take one shuffling step after another, and when next he looks up they are in a tent. Their tent, or at least it was before Agron left. Nasir guides him to sit on the bed, gathers a few things, and then kneels before him.

He unwraps the bandages around Agron's hands carefully, and Agron hears his breath catch as he takes in the sight revealed. Nasir closes his eyes for a moment, then lifts a bowl filled with water. 

"I would not cause further pain, but the wounds must be cleaned," he says, and when Agron gives a faint nod, he sets to task.

Some time ago, the pain in Agron's hands subsided into numbness. As Nasir cleanses the wounds of dirt and clotted blood, there is a dull ache, but no more sensation than that.

"There is not much feeling in them now," he mutters. He thinks only to give reassurance that Nasir's ministrations are not causing him pain, but Nasir halts, looking up at him with a stricken expression. 

They have both seen enough of wounds to know what such loss of feeling means. Agron has had time to come to terms with it, time for Caesar's words to echo through his mind and to know beyond doubt that even if fate or chance saw him from cross alive, the damage would be done. He sees that same realization dawn on Nasir's face before Nasir looks away, struggling for composure. His hands curl around Agron's gently, as if he could somehow protect them from what has already happened. 

Then he shakes his head. "You are alive and back where you belong," he says as he continues his work. "That is all that matters now."

He wraps Agron's hands in clean, fresh bandages rather than the rags the Romans had spared him, and moves on to tend his other wounds. He works with calm efficiency, but now that Agron is looking at him for more than just that first miraculous sight, he can see how much pain Nasir is in. It shows in the line of Nasir's shoulders and the movements of his hands and deep in his eyes, and Agron knows he put it there. 

Nasir reaches behind him to lift something from the bed and drapes a familiar blue cloak about Agron's shoulders. His eyes are downcast, shadowed by his lashes, and Agron wants to touch his face but finds he can barely lift his arms, strength not yet returned to them. He says Nasir's name softly instead, and leans forward until their foreheads touch.

"It was never my intent to cause you pain," he whispers.

Nasir lifts his hands to Agron's face, cradling his head gently. "Yet you left," he replies quietly.

Agron says nothing, all the confidence he once had that he'd acted for the best fled from him.

Hearing footsteps at the tent's entrance, they both look up to see Naevia standing there. "We have prepared the funeral pyre for Crixus," she tells them. "Your presence there would honor him, and me."

Looking at her, Agron is suddenly reminded of Vesuvius, of when they first came to the temple. Then, as now, he and Nasir have been reunited against all odds while Naevia stands alone. Yet this time there is no hope of a reunion with Crixus in this world, no mad plan or improbable rescue mission that can return him to her arms.

Agron nods. "We will come."

Nasir stands and smoothes a hand over Agron's hair. "You should rest," he murmurs. "I will go."

Agron shakes his head, looking up at him. "He was one of my brothers, and I too often failed to treat him as such," he says. "I will not fail to honor him now." 

Nasir touches his face again, nods, and reaches to help him up.

***

Nasir knows how much it galls Agron to be without the use of his hands. Idleness has never sat well on him, and he quickly grows impatient as his body recovers from the ordeal it's been put through, but the state of his hands is what frustrates him the most. He submits only reluctantly to letting Nasir help him with tasks he cannot perform on his own, and will let no one but Nasir tend to his hands.

Nasir has not forgotten his own pain and anger, nor entirely forgiven Agron's part in causing them, yet he does his best to lay them aside. Agron has suffered incredibly, his recovery will be long and difficult, and Nasir means to help him through it as well as he can. 

The first time Agron tries to take up sword again, Nasir says nothing, only waits and watches. For a moment it looks as though Agron may succeed, but his fingers fail to close around the hilt and the blade falls to the ground. Agron stares at it, and Nasir moves forward to take his hand, checking to make sure the wound in his palm has not reopened.

Days later, he finds Agron in their tent with his right hand clutched in his left, and Nasir's stomach drops at the sight of fresh blood staining bandages.

"You must stop this," Nasir says as he tends the wound, his tone made harsher than he means by worry and frustration. "You risk making damage worse."

Agron gives a low, bitter laugh. "You speak as though my hands were not already ruined."

"You may yet regain use of them," Nasir tells him. "If you can be patient as they heal, perhaps--"

Agron tugs his hands out of Nasir's grasp and turns away from him. "Or perhaps I should learn to accept that Rome has taken everything from me."

Nasir knows those words are spoken out of pain and anger, not meant to hurt him. They sting all the same. "Not everything," he reminds softly.

Agron's shoulders sag as he lets out a sigh, turning back to Nasir. He lifts a hand to brush Nasir's cheek, touch hesitant and clumsy as it always is these days. "No," he agrees softly. "Yet what good am I to you, or to anyone, if I cannot even lift sword?"

Nasir touches his face, tries to bring Agron's gaze to his. "You are still the man I fell in love with."

Agron jerks away from the touch. "You fell in love with a warrior." 

He will not even meet Nasir's eyes, and Nasir gives vent to a growl of frustration.

"I fell in love with a stubborn fool," he says as he turns away. "That much, at least, has not changed."

As he leaves the tent, he quickly regrets letting his anger get the better of him, yet keeps walking, needing to let his blood cool before he goes back to Agron. 

Seeking some occupation, Nasir heads for the outskirts of camp, checking with those standing watch for any news. There is little to report; it seems their location remains undiscovered, although they cannot count on it remaining so for long.

He finds Castus stationed at the last post he checks--a sign of how far he has proven himself, to be trusted with such duty. They have not seen each other much of late. Nasir has been focused on Agron when not set to some task by Spartacus, and Castus has been keeping his distance.

"How fares Agron?" Castus asks once he has given report.

"Healing in body, at least," Nasir replies. "Would that the same held true for his spirit."

"He has been dealt a great blow," Castus says sympathetically. "That he survived speaks to strength of will as well as body. If the gods show favor for a change, perhaps you will yet see the healing you hope for."

"I pray it so." Nasir looks over at him and smiles. "I have not yet given thanks for aid and comfort you gave in his absence, nor offered apology for how I received them."

Castus shakes his head with a wry smile. "I have taken blows to the face for far worse reason." He holds out a hand. "I am glad I was able to offer comfort, and would do so again, for one whose friendship I have come to hold dear."

Nasir takes his hand, clasping it gratefully. "I should return to camp," he says. 

Castus nods, then as Nasir starts to withdraw, speaks again. "I ask only from curiosity--in another life, would I have stood a chance?"

A life without Agron is not one Nasir wishes to contemplate, yet Castus deserves an honest answer. "I think you may have," he says. 

Castus bows his head, still smiling faintly. "Then I shall mourn what might have been," he says. "Yet still count myself blessed to have known your friendship."

"And I yours," Nasir tells him.

He makes report to Spartacus, then, walking through camp, passes the tent that serves as their armory. He pauses as an idea strikes him, considers it for a moment, and steps inside.

The work is hastily done and crude--he is no blacksmith--yet Nasir hopes it will serve purpose. It is not quite finished when night falls, so he leaves it concealed in the armory for now.

It is late when he returns to their tent, and Agron is stretched out on his back, hands laid carefully on his chest. He stirs when Nasir lies down next to him.

"I did not know if you would return tonight," Agron murmurs. 

Nasir presses himself to Agron's side, his cheek against Agron's shoulder and one hand coming to rest gently on top of his. "We have spent enough nights apart," he replies softly. 

***

They walk far, the first night in the mountains. Agron calls a halt when he notices several of their party struggling to keep pace; for himself, he feels pushed far past the point of exhaustion, and it seems to matter little whether he rests or keeps going.

They make camp, and Agron submits patiently to Nasir checking his hands. The wounds in his palms have torn open and he knows that having put so much strain on his hands will take a toll on his healing, but he bears it gladly; they have done more today than he thought them yet capable of.

Nasir finishes his work and folds his hands around Agron's, a hint of desperate tightness in his grip. Agron touches his forehead to Nasir's, and they rest like that for a time, just breathing together.

They are alive. Alive, and together, and every step they take puts Rome farther behind them. 

And so many of their brothers and sisters are dead that Agron feels it as a physical weight on his shoulders, one he thinks he will carry to the end of his days, however many they may be.

He does not know the fate of all who fought with them, only that no others arrived to join them at foot of the mountains. A voice inside him says that as long as any of their people yet fought he should have stayed and fought with them, whispers of courage and honor and a glorious death. Agron does his best to ignore it. Nasir called him from the field, and choosing blood and battle over Nasir is a mistake he will make only once.

_He hears Nasir cry out and whirls around, cursing himself for letting them become separated. His eyes roam the battlefield desperately until he finds Nasir fallen to his knees by Naevia's still form._

_He goes to Nasir's side and touches his shoulder, as he had earlier when Castus fell. In spite of the chaos all around, an odd sense of quiet seems to fall over them, and it's that unexpected stillness that allows Agron to take in the position Naevia's fallen in and the wound at the base of her neck, a single thrust from above like an executioner's blow. She died on her knees._

_Rage and bloodlust sweep the calm away as suddenly as it had come over him, and Agron lets out a roar and starts to charge back into the fray only to halt when Nasir calls his name. He looks back as Nasir regains his feet, spear in hand, a determined set to his jaw and a fierce light in his eyes._

_"We must find Spartacus," he says._

They had found him, and done what they could for him. It had not been enough. It could never have been enough to repay what they owe him, to honor him as he deserved.

Agron doesn't realize there are tears on his face until Nasir lifts a hand to wipe them away.

Laeta calls to them from where she and a handful of others sit around a small fire, and Agron gathers himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. They join the others, and Agron takes the food he's handed and eats mechanically, taking stock of who is with them. Besides Laeta there is Sibyl, Belesa, Adal, Caelia and her infant son Vitus, and two children Agron took note of earlier, a boy and a girl. 

Agron smiles at the children in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. "What are your names?" he asks.

"Nikolaos," the boy replies. "My sister is Sophia."

"Are you alone?" Agron asks, and Nikolaos nods. 

"We take care of each other," Sophia says, laying an arm around her brother's shoulders, and Agron's smile becomes less forced. 

"I don't doubt it," he says. "But stay close to us, all the same." 

There is little other conversation as they eat, all of them tired from walking and made solemn by all that has happened this day. There is not much that need be discussed, as for now it is clear what they must do; keep to the mountain path, cover as much ground as they can each day, and stay vigilant for any sign of Roman pursuit. 

With that in mind, they set a watch and take to their beds, to secure what rest they can before their long march continues. Agron and Nasir lie close, each with one arm thrown over the other, and Agron presses lips to Nasir's brow and thinks once more: _Alive, and together._

***

Nasir is beginning to think he should have brought Belesa hunting with him. She has less aptitude for the spear than Adal, but she knows how to keep still and quiet until the proper moment to strike, a talent currently lacking in the boy.

"Not yet," Nasir whispers as Adal tenses beside him. He hears an impatient huff of breath in response, but Adal obeys, holding himself still as the deer moves closer. Nasir waits until he's certain it's within the reach of Adal's throw, then nods. "Now."

The throw is swift and clean, and Nasir smiles approvingly. Adal has much yet to learn, but there is promise there.

They carry the kill back to their camp, which is one of many spread throughout the mountains. What was once a single massive force has broken into many smaller groups. They yet share common direction in the mountains, but they will go their own ways on the other side, free men and women forging their own paths. The little group Nasir and Agron found themselves among that first night has stayed intact. They all lack (or have lost) any attachment except to each other, and seem similarly lacking in any intended destination--most of them grew up in slavery, and Laeta has left behind what was once her home. The only one among them who has ever had a home north of the Alps is Agron, and he has yet to break any word toward returning there. It is something they will have to consider soon.

As Nasir and Adal arrive with their bounty, Caelia leaves Vitus in Sibyl's care to help them break down the carcass. Having worked in the kitchens of her former master's house and as a cook in the rebel camp, she's a skilled butcher, and gives patient instruction to Adal as they work.

Agron sits at a short distance, and Nasir does not miss the wistfulness in his expression or the way he flexes his hands. His wounds continue to heal, and he's spoken with cautious optimism of some sensation returning. Yet many tasks he could once have completed with ease remain beyond his capabilities, a source of continued frustration for him.

Pausing in his work, Nasir wipes his hands and beckons to Nikolaos and Sophia, who run over to him.

"Do you know of the battle of Vesuvius?" he asks them.

"It was one of Spartacus' first great victories, was it not?" Sophia replies.

"It was," Nasir says. "But have you ever heard the tale of how the Romans trapped us on the mountain, and how we found our way back down?" The children shake their heads in tandem, and Nasir smiles. "Go and see if you can get Agron to tell it, then."

The children rush over to Agron, begging for the tale. Agron casts a look that says he knows exactly what Nasir is doing, yet he seems to welcome the distraction. Laeta moves to sit closer to him, gathering Niko and Sophia to her side.

"Spartacus told me of this once," she says. "I would see how your version of the tale compares." A shadow of grief falls over her face even as she smiles, and Nasir feels an answering pang at the reminder that of all who fought at Vesuvius, he and Agron are the only ones left.

Sibyl and Belesa gather close as well as Agron begins to speak, and Nasir goes back to his work, listening and glancing up now and then. Agron's voice is halting at first--he's always thought himself less suited to words than to action, though Nasir knows well how eloquent he can be with the right mood upon him. And now, as he finds the rhythm of the tale, he seems more at ease and speech flows easier. He takes care to mention what feats were done not only by Spartacus, but by Gannicus and Saxa, remembering them well to those who held them to heart.

Nasir, Caelia, and Adal finish with the carcass and begin preparing the meat. Whatever is not eaten tonight will be dried and salted, to add to their supplies.

Over their evening meal, Nasir broaches the subject that concerns him. "We must decide which direction to strike out in when we leave the mountains behind," he says, and looks up at Agron. "What are your thoughts?"

Agron is silent for a moment, gazing into their fire, then glances to Laeta. "You have our map?"

She nods and goes to fetch it from her belongings, spreading it out in the fire's light when she returns. Agron bends over it and finds their approximate position, then traces his finger up over the wide expanse of Germania.

"My father was of the Chatti," he says as he finds a spot on the map and taps it. "They dwell in the forests and hills, here. If any of my family yet live, we would find them there."

"And would we be safe there?" Laeta asks him. 

"Rome's grasp has not yet extended that far," Agron says with a note of pride in his voice. "Or at least it had not, when last I was there. As for the Chatti, they are not always welcoming to strangers, but neither do they seek quarrel absent cause for it." 

Nasir nods. "A sound course, then."

Agron nods, but he does not seem completely at ease, and Nasir raises the subject again once they have retired to their tent. The others are in their own tents--Laeta sharing one with Sibyl, Belesa with Caelia and the children, while Adal sits on watch by the embers of their fire.

"Would you rather we choose a different path?" he asks as he helps Agron remove his armor, and Agron shakes his head.

"I would have us somewhere safe and out of Rome's grasp," he says. "I can lead us to my homeland with confidence and know those lands and people better than any other. It is the best course for us to take."

"Yet you seem hesitant to commit to it," Nasir points out.

Agron stills the movement of Nasir's hands by taking them in his own, looking down at their entwined fingers for a moment before he answers.

"When Duro and I left home, we left our mother in the care of our father's kin," he says in a low voice. "I swore to her that I would protect Duro at all cost--the last words I spoke to her. Now I am to return, years later, and either face her and explain my failure, or find some fate has befallen her while her sons were not there to give aid."

Nasir knows something of Agron's family history already--it has always been difficult for him to speak of, after Duro's death, but Nasir knows that his father died when he was young, and that his mother raised him and Duro among their father's people though she herself was Illyrian.

"It is a heavy thing you face," he says. "Yet if she still lives, surely having one son returned to her will be a blessing, even if it comes with news of the other's passing."

Agron looks at him tenderly, lifting a hand to Nasir's cheek. "I hope it will be so. And no matter what, you and I will find a place where we can build a future together."

Nasir smiles wryly, leaning into the touch. "Despite the fact that you are no shepherd, nor tiller of land?"

Agron ducks his head, smiling. "I was a fool when I spoke those words. And I confess, I remain unsure of how well-suited I am to such a life." Lifting his eyes to Nasir's, he finishes, "Yet whatever you wish me to be, I will at least make attempt."

Nasir's heart swells at those words, and he steps closer, tilting his head up to bring his lips to Agron's.

Agron returns the kiss, but at first it stays light, almost chaste. It has been this way between them since Agron's return; they have stayed close and shared touch for comfort or reassurance, they have kissed, they have slept at each other's side, but the passion they once shared has yet to be rekindled. Nasir has not wanted to press Agron while he healed, though he longs for things to be as they were.

He cannot help but lean into the kiss, stretching up on his toes and bracing his hands on Agron's shoulders. Agron makes a low noise in the back of his throat as his mouth opens under Nasir's, and a fleeting smile crosses Nasir's face before he presses closer.

Agron's hands, when they settle on Nasir's waist, are not as strong or sure as they would once have been, yet Nasir thrills at the touch all the same. He brings one hand up to curl around the back of Agron's neck and lets the other run down to rest over his heart, feeling it beat swift and hard under his palm. Agron's hands trail downward as well, cupping Nasir's hips gently. His thumbs caress the bare skin just above Nasir's waistband, rubbing over it in teasing little circles. That alone is a more intimate touch than they have shared in weeks, and Nasir makes a truly desperate sound before he breaks the kiss on a gasp. 

"Agron, please--" he says breathlessly, at the same moment Agron says "Please, I need--" and they both halt, taking a step back.

"You've been waiting for me to--" Agron begins haltingly.

"You were recovering from injury," Nasir says, staring at him. 

"You were angry with me for leaving," Agron counters. "I was afraid you no longer wanted--"

Nasir surges forward and cuts him off with a searing kiss, cupping Agron's face in both hands. Agron's hands settle on his forearms, clinging as well as he is able as he devours Nasir's mouth like a man starved. 

Nasir pulls back after a long moment, resting his forehead against Agron's. "Never," he says in a low voice, " _never_ imagine I no longer want this."

"Why are you still _talking_ ," Agron replies, and draws him back in.

Nasir wraps his arms about Agron's neck as they melt against each other, and for a few moments he thinks they will make it no further, only stand here and kiss the breath from each other until the gods take them. Then Agron breaks loose, ignoring Nasir's frustrated growl, and goes to the entrance of the tent, pushing the fabric aside to stick his head out. Nasir hears him speaking to Adal, but the words escape him.

"What did you say?" he asks as Agron ducks back into the tent. 

Agron secures the opening and turns back to Nasir, moving toward him with purposeful steps and a fierce light in his eyes. "I told Adal that if we are disturbed for anything short of assault being laid upon camp, I will hold him personally responsible."

Nasir is smiling as their lips meet again. He curls his hands around Agron's hips and takes a step back. Agron teases Nasir's mouth open with his tongue, following eagerly as Nasir tugs him back toward their bed. They pause at the foot of it and rid themselves of clothing quickly, and then Agron pulls Nasir close again, hands going back to his waist. At one time, those hands might have gripped and lifted, easily sweeping Nasir off his feet to lay him down on the bed. Now Nasir guides Agron down first and follows quickly, kneeling astride him.

He bends down for another kiss, and Agron lifts his hands to free Nasir's hair from its plait, twining his fingers in it as it falls around their faces. He breaks the kiss and trails his mouth down the side of Nasir's neck, and Nasir tips his head back to grant him better access, eyes fluttering closed as Agron pulls a moan from him. 

"You doubted my desire for this?" he asks incredulously, and Agron pulls back, framing Nasir's face in his hands.

"I doubted whether the rift I tore between us could ever be fully healed," he replies. "I thought if I still had you at my side I could learn to live without the rest, if I must."

Nasir lays hands over Agron's and guides them down the length of his body to his hips, moving against him with purpose. "You have all of me," he whispers. "You always will."

Agron slides his arms around Nasir and pulls him close, mouth going back to his neck. Nasir runs his fingers through Agron's hair and cups the back of his head.

"I would have you inside me," he whispers, and Agron bites down, making him moan again, before he pulls back.

" _Yes_ ," Agron says, voice rough with desire. "Do we have--"

"I think--" Nasir rolls to the side and leans over, groping for the strap of the pack that contains most of his possessions and dragging it toward the bed. Agron curls around Nasir's back, teasing his neck and the shell of his ear with teeth and tongue, as Nasir digs through the pack until his hand closes around a vial of oil near the bottom.

Nasir makes himself ready, wishing it were Agron's hand but loving the way Agron watches him. He takes less time with it than he likely should, impatient with need. He swings a leg over Agron's to straddle him again, bending to kiss him. They kiss frantically, messily, neither of them able to get enough of the other's mouth.

With one hand braced on Agron's shoulder, Nasir reaches down and takes hold of his cock with the other. Agron lets out a moan and surges up into the touch, and Nasir strokes the hard length for a few moments before moving into position. He lets himself sink down slowly, gasping at the sensation of Agron's cock pressing inside him. It's intense, after so long, and yet not enough; he wants them pressed together closer, tighter, deeper.

Agron seems to share that desire, wrapping his arms around Nasir's waist and burying his face in the curve of his neck and shoulder. Nasir twines his arms around Agron's neck, cupping the back of his head with one hand, and for a few moments they stay just like that. Even when Nasir starts moving, they stay close, rocking together and gripping each other tight.

Nasir brings one hand down and works it in between their bodies, stroking himself rough and fast. Agron's mouth works on his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin, and Nasir muffles his cry in Agron's shoulder as he tumbles over the edge, trembling violently in Agron's arms. Agron follows only moments later, and the sound he makes as he spills inside Nasir is almost a sob.

They stay pressed together for long moments afterward, panting for breath as sweat cools on their skin. At length, Nasir pulls back enough to see Agron's face, combing fingers through his hair.

"Always," he whispers.

Agron smiles ruefully. "You've had to give me reassurances too many times," he says, and kisses Nasir gently. "Apologies."

Nasir smiles and tips his forehead against Agron's. "I do not mind giving them in such a fashion." He moves off of Agron and they lie back on the bed, side-by-side. "Yet I wish you did not still feel in need of them. You know my heart is yours."

Agron smiles and lays his hand on Nasir's chest, just over his heartbeat. "At times I yet doubt whether I am truly worthy of it."

Nasir places his hand over Agron's, holding it firmly in place. "I have never held such doubts," he replies. "Your strength has always given me strength and your love has been a light in some of my darkest times."

"I have also been foolish, and jealous, and hurt you with it," Agron points out regretfully.

Nasir touches his cheek, smiling softly. "And you have made amends, and shown me again and again how you have learned from past mistakes." He lifts up on his elbow, leaning over Agron and looking into his eyes. "You are more than worthy, Agron. If you cannot keep from doubting yourself on that score, do not doubt me."

Agron pulls him down into a tight embrace, cradling Nasir's head against his chest and kissing his hair. "I will never doubt you again," he whispers fiercely.

They fall asleep in a close tangle of limbs that night, bare skin on skin all along the length of their bodies, and Nasir rests his cheek over Agron's heart and offers up a prayer that they will never again let unspoken fears and doubts keep them from each other.

***

They descend from the mountains onto the eastern bank of the Rhine. There has been no sign of pursuit so far, and Agron does not expect any. As Spartacus said when he first declared intention to cross the Alps, Rome could only pursue them now with difficulty, and with their legions spread thin and unrest likely still needing to be quelled in the heart of the Republic, it is unlikely they will expend such effort.

This does not mean they are safe, by any means. Pursuit may be unlikely, but Agron will not be completely at ease until they have put yet more distance between themselves and Roman territory. And Rome is not the only threat they may face--many miles yet lie between them and Agron's homeland, and there is no knowing who or what they may encounter along the way.

Now in easier terrain, they cover a good amount of ground on their first day past the mountains. Even the children walk as far as they are able without complaint, having grown accustomed to harder marching than this when Roman soldiers hounded every step.

When they make camp that evening and take meal, Adal addresses Nasir. "I would spar with you later, if you are of a mind."

Adal had begun training before the final battle, though his youth and inexperience had led Spartacus to keep him from the field, and any thoughts of continuing his training had fallen by the wayside during their trek through the mountains. Now, in a wide clear space a short distance from their little cluster of tents, Nasir tests the boy's memory of what he has learned so far. Adal's enthusiasm yet exceeds his skill, but it has been the same for many warriors Agron has known at the start of their training.

The others gather to watch them, and the children both sit near Agron. He's been somewhat surprised by how they have taken to him, and he to them. He never spared much time for children in the rebel camp, feeling he lacked the proper temperament to deal with them, but now it seems less a question of temperament than of spending enough time with them to form attachment. 

"Will Nasir teach me to fight, when I am older?" Nikolaos asks, and Agron lays a hand on his head, ruffling his hair.

"Perhaps," he says.

"And me!" Sophia chimes in. "I would be a warrior as well, like Naevia and Saxa."

Agron smiles at her, but Laeta looks troubled. "I pray you will never have to know the ways of battle as they did," she comments. "Either of you."

"I hope they will not, either," Agron says. "Yet I would see them able to defend against danger if needed."

"I do not call such thinking unwise," Laeta responds. "Though I regret the necessity of it."

Their friendship has grown more than Agron ever expected it to, and while they often still spar with words, their debates are good-natured more often than not. He can never entirely forget that she is Roman, yet he admires her resilience, her pragmatism, even her stubbornness. She reminds him of Mira in some ways, while always remaining wholly and undeniably herself, and Roman or not, Agron is glad to have a mind and will such as hers among their party.

As the practice match continues, Adal makes a decent showing, though Nasir isn't pressing him nearly as hard as he could. They battle back and forth across the clearing a few times before Nasir catches Adal off-guard and easily sweeps his legs from under him. The boy crashes to the ground with a shouted curse, and Nasir grins as he reaches down to clasp his forearm and help him back up.

"Well-fought," Nasir says as they walk back toward the others.

"It's kind of you to say so," Adal replies good-naturedly, and Nasir claps him on the shoulder sympathetically.

"No weapon is mastered without much practice," he says. "You should have seen me when I was new to the spear."

"I find it difficult to believe you were not born with one in hand," Adal tells him.

Nasir catches Agron's eye with a wry smile and Agron grins back at him, heart swelling with pride as it always does when he thinks of how far Nasir has come since they first met.

They continue their journey, gradually moving into more thickly forested territory. One evening, as they prepare to make camp in a clearing on a hillside, they catch the first sign of other human life since they parted ways with the rest of the former slaves--a thin trail of smoke rising from the trees further down the slope, a few miles distant.

"Should we keep moving?" Nasir asks as he and Agron stand looking down at it. 

Agron glances over his shoulder at the others; they've traveled far today, and the strain of it shows. "I would not push them farther this night short of necessity. Yet we should stand ready for any trouble, and set a watch." 

Nasir nods. "Whoever is there, perhaps they will keep to themselves, and let us do the same."

"I'm not certain I trust our luck that far," Agron replies. 

Later that evening, they're gathered around the fire when Nasir sits up, peering ahead into the trees. Agron signals a halt to conversation and listens, catching the low mutter of voices and the sound of twigs and leaves underfoot.

He looks back to the others, speaking low and swift. "Caelia, Adal, I would have you keep watch over the children. The rest of you, stay close."

Nikolaos and Sophia are already asleep in one of the tents, Vitus nestled against his mother's breast as usual. Caelia goes into the tent with her son, and Adal takes position in front of it. The rest of them draw close around the fire. Nasir has his spear in hand, and Laeta and Belesa both have knives tucked in the folds of their cloaks, leaving Sibyl and Agron the only ones among them unarmed.

Two men emerge from the trees, crudely dressed in hides and with long knives hanging from both their belts. The elder of them looks about at the group around the fire, then addresses Agron in the tongue of his homeland.

"Greetings, friend," he says. "May we share your fire?"

It's on the tip of Agron's tongue to refuse and tell them to be on their way, but he looks to Nasir, who gives a slight shake of his head, as if he can read the lay of Agron's thoughts, and shifts his eyes deliberately toward the trees. Agron follows his gaze and sees flashes of movement; there are more of them yet concealed in the forest, and he cannot tell how many.

"You are welcome," he says instead, tone carefully neutral.

The two men move forward, making themselves comfortable near the fire with apparently little concern for how ill at ease everyone else is.

"What brings you and your companions to these woods?" the elder man asks.

"We're merely passing through," Agron replies, and declines to elaborate.

"You must pardon my curiosity," the man says with a wide, friendly smile. "We've not often seen groups of travelers such as you in these parts."

"Certainly not any so pretty," his companion says with a lingering glance at Sibyl, who is closest to him. She ducks her head, noticeably discomfited, and makes no reply.

"Sibyl," Agron says quietly, beckoning to her, and she moves to stand on his other side with a grateful look. Laeta and Belesa move closer as well, Laeta placing an arm around Sibyl's shoulders.

"Apologies," the younger man says, eyes following their interaction. "Is she your woman?"

"She is my sister," Agron says smoothly. "And as such, I'm quite protective of her."

"I see," the man says, and shifts his gaze to Belesa, who looks back at him coolly. "And her?"

"My other sister," Agron tells him.

The elder man looks at him with a sneering grin. "And the red-haired one, I suppose she's your sister as well?"

"The gods have blessed me with a large family," Agron replies, meeting his gaze steadily.

"So I see," the man says, looking around at them all. He barely spares Adal a glance, and his eyes pass over Nasir dismissively, a mistake Agron has witnessed from many men. "Yet they may have done well to give you more brothers to help guard your sisters."

The threat in his tone is barely concealed, and Agron takes an instinctive step forward, placing himself more firmly between the two men and the women. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Belesa reach into her cloak and Nasir's hand tighten on his spear. He also hears movement and low voices in the trees, and stills himself, jaw clenched.

"We seek no quarrel," he says in a low voice. "Only to be left to continue our journey in peace."

Both men stand, hands on their knives as they step toward Agron. "And if we do not wish to leave you yet?" the elder asks. "What will you do, my friend, with your party of women and boys?"

Before the men can come any closer, Nasir holds his spear out to the side, blocking their path. "Step away," he says. "While you are still able."

His tone is flat and steely, and it seems to give the elder man pause for a moment, but the younger steps forward heedlessly, moving to grab the shaft of the spear and push it away.

Nasir grasps the spear in both hands and shoves, sending him staggering back, then swings it around so that when the man regains his footing, he finds himself staring straight at the well-honed tip. 

Then there's a shout, and others rush out from the trees at them, some armed with blades, others with clubs. Nasir glances to the side and the man he was facing tries to take advantage of his distraction, drawing his knife and lunging. Nasir recovers too quickly for him, dropping his shoulder and letting the man rush forward onto his spear, impaling himself. Turning, Nasir shoves the body toward the men rushing down on him, tripping two of them.

The older man throws himself at Agron, who dodges a clumsy swing of his knife, then grabs him by the arm with both hands. Pain shoots up his wrists and he knows he cannot trust his hands for long; he headbutts the man viciously and drives a knee into his groin, then manages to twist the knife around and bury it in his assailant's chest.

Agron loses count of the number of men coming at them from the trees--at least ten, but he is not sure how many more. Nasir is moving with swift and deadly purpose, but he cannot stop them all. Agron hears Laeta scream and whirls just in time to see her stab a man who had come at her. Belesa dispatches another, and Adal runs forward to aid them. Even Sibyl ducks to grab a fallen enemy's club, though her grip is hesitant and trembling. One of the men easily dodges a tentative swing and tries to grab her. Agron rushes forward and tackles him to the ground; after a brief struggle, he gets an arm around the man's throat from behind and tightens his grip mercilessly while the man struggles.

The others keep fighting all around him. Nasir lets out a snarl as another falls to his spear; Belesa grabs a knife one of them dropped and fights on with a blade in each hand; Adal blocks a blow from a sword and his spear cracks in half, but without breaking stride he whirls and buries both the tip and the jagged wooden end of the other half in his opponent's back.

Realizing too late that this group of travelers is not the easy prey they took them for, the remaining brigands try to flee. Some escape, but Belesa leaps on the back of one and brings him down and Nasir and Adal dispatch a few more. The one Agron has in a chokehold gives one last kick and goes still; another, on his knees, tries to reach a sword on the ground, but Laeta grabs him by the hair and slashes his throat from behind.

For a few moments, there's no sound but heavy breathing. Agron catches movement from the corner of his eye and turns to see Caelia standing in the entrance to the tent, looking wide-eyed at the carnage. She's clutching Vitus close with one hand and a knife in the other, and Niko and Sophia are both clinging to her, faces buried in her skirt.

"We should not linger here," Agron says, pushing himself up. He knows not if the few who got away might return with reinforcements, but they shouldn't take the chance.

They break camp as quickly as they can, without pausing to tend their wounds, which seem minor--a long but shallow scratch on Belesa's arm, a blow from a club to Adal's ribs. They veer away from where they saw the other fire and keep moving as fast and as far as they can this time, adrenaline spurring them on. When the children's footsteps begin flagging, Nasir sweeps Sophia up in his arms and Agron kneels to let Niko climb onto his back, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

It's near dawn before they halt again, having found high ground with a good view of the surrounding area. They collapse in a loose circle on the ground, all of them bone-weary.

Agron finds himself next to Belesa, who's tending to the cut on her arm. Nearby, Sibyl prods Adal's ribs to try and determine if any are broken.

"You fought well," Agron says to Belesa. "Saxa taught you?"

"She made certain our time together was well spent," Belesa confirms, then looks up to meet his eyes. "And I made a vow that no man would ever again lay hand on me without my consent."

They share a look of grim understanding, and Agron nods. He turns to look at Nasir, sitting on his other side. Sophia's arms are locked around his neck and she already seems to be falling asleep against his shoulder; Nasir keeps one arm tucked around her and reaches the other out to Agron.

"If it were not for you..." Agron says in a low voice. He thought he'd begun to make peace with the state of his hands, with no longer being the warrior he once was, yet now he's acutely aware of how things would have ended if it had fallen to him to protect the others.

Nasir closes his hand around Agron's wrist, gripping tightly. "I did not stand alone," he says. "And we are safe now. Let us not dwell on what could have been."

Agron nods. "I will take first watch," he says.

Exhausted as they are, sleep comes easily to most, yet not all. Agron rises and paces a bit to keep himself alert, and returns to find Laeta still wakeful. She has her knife drawn and resting on the ground beside her, turning the handle and watching the blade gleam. She glances up as Agron lowers himself to the ground across from her.

"It weighs on you, having taken life?" he asks.

"This is the second time I have done so," Laeta replies softly. "I do not regret having done what I must. Yet...it is not easy."

"No, it is not." Agron has watched many struggle with this weight, and now finds himself wishing Laeta could have been spared such. He wishes he were still capable of doing more, so that she and the others would not have had to do so much. He wishes a great many things that are not to be.

He touches Laeta's shoulder gently. "You should sleep if you can," he tells her, and she nods, tucking the knife away again and rolling onto her other side.

***

Following the encounter in the forest, their journey is thankfully uneventful for some time. They travel on, and while the territory they are in seems much the same to Nasir, Agron starts to find it more familiar.

"If I have my bearings right, we're near the place I was born," he tells them one night. "In another day or so, we should come upon a village."

Sure enough, the next day they crest a rise and see a village nestled in the valley below--wooden houses with thatched roofs, small plots of farmland and yards where livestock graze. Agron stands for a long moment looking down at it, until Nasir touches his arm gently. Agron glances at him and offers a faint smile, then squares his shoulders and begins making his way down the slope, the others following closely. 

They're halfway down when a voice from the trees shouts for them to halt. Three men appear with startling quickness, each armed with a spear, and take up position on the path ahead. The travelers halt, Nasir instinctively raising his own spear, and Agron lifts both hands slowly and takes a single step forward. 

"We seek only words," he says in his own tongue. 

"Speak, then," one of the men calls.

"My name is Agron. My father was Raban, son of Ulrich, my mother Adea of Illyria. My brother Duro and I left these lands together some years ago."

The men exchange glances, and then one of them lowers his spear and moves forward. He's younger than the others, and he studies Agron's face for a moment and then breaks into a grin. 

"Fuck the gods, it is you," he says.

Agron looks back at him, brow furrowed, and then recognition dawns. "Tancred?" he asks, and when the young man nods, Agron laughs and steps forward to embrace him. Nasir glances toward the other Chatti men, who have lowered their spears as well now, and follows suit.

"You've become a man since last I saw you," Agron says when he pulls back. 

"The passage of years tends to bring such a thing about," Tancred replies dryly, then glances over his shoulder. "Who is with you?"

"Companions in need of rest and shelter," Agron tells him. Turning to the others, he lays a hand on Tancred's shoulder and shifts to Latin as he explains, "My cousin."

Tancred looks their group over, then turns back to Agron with eyebrows raised slightly. "Duro?" Agron shakes his head, mouth set in a firm line, and Tancred grips his shoulder in sympathy. "I imagine you have quite a tale to tell, but it can wait until we've reunited you with your mother."

"She yet lives?" Agron asks softly, and Tancred grins again. 

"She's your mother. I'd like to see the gods try and take her before she's ready."

Tancred and the others lead them into the village, conversing with Agron in their own tongue. They attract many curious glances as they pass, and Nasir notices a wary look on Laeta's face and drops back to walk beside her.

"You seem ill at ease," he says.

"Should I be otherwise?" Laeta asks, and touches her fingers lightly to the brand on her forearm. "I mean no insult to Agron's kinsman, yet I have suffered in the past for trusting in the honor and hospitality of men I did not know."

Nasir nods. "As Agron has learned that because men share his blood does not necessarily make them trustworthy. He will not be too quick to lower guard, even as he rejoices in reunion with his kin."

They come to one building larger than most they have passed, and word of their approach seems to have preceded them; as they draw near an older man appears in the doorway, and then a woman beside him. Agron comes to a halt at the sight of her.

"Your mother?" Nasir asks softly, and Agron nods, then walks toward her slowly. 

She's darker than Agron, nearly as tall as him, and her black hair is shot through with silver. As he comes closer she raises her hands to his face, studies him for a moment, then pulls him into an embrace. Nasir sees Agron's eyes fall closed as his arms come up around her.

They stay like that for long moments. Nasir hears them talking softly and does not try to make out the words, though he catches Duro's name. At length Agron draws back and leads his mother over to where the rest of them stand. They come to Nasir first, and the solemn look on Agron's face gives way to a smile and a gleam of excitement in his eyes. 

He puts an arm about Nasir's shoulders, pulling him tight against his side as he says "This is Nasir," in a way that instantly warms Nasir's heart.

The tone and gesture seem to be all that are needed; Adea gives her son a knowing look, then smiles at Nasir, holding out both hands. For all the outward difference in their features, her smile is remarkably like Agron's.

"Nasir, is it? Welcome."

Nasir clasps her hands in his, returning the smile. "Gratitude."

"The others do not know much of our tongue," Agron explains as Adea turns toward them, and she nods and addresses the group in halting but serviceable Latin.

"This is the house of my husband's brother," she says, gesturing to the building behind her. "You are friends of my son; you have our hospitality and our protection, if you wish it."

"Gratitude," Laeta says with a nod. She seems relieved at being addressed in familiar tongue, and Nasir thinks perhaps she is also more willing to trust an offer of hospitality from another woman.

They're ushered into the hall and food is set before them. The atmosphere inside is warm and genial; Nasir is introduced to Agron's uncle Rainer and several more cousins, all of whom seem as eager to embrace him as Lugo and Saxa were on a long-ago day in the shadow of Vesuvius. They seem particularly delighted that he speaks their tongue so well already. Some of them address the rest of the group in broken Latin, others simply carry on in their own language and trust Agron and Nasir to translate, and with some confusion and much repetition, introductions are made.

Once they've all had time to fill their bellies, Rainer raises his hands and calls for quiet, and silence ripples outward through the hall until he can be heard clearly. 

"Will you tell us your tale now?" he asks Agron, who stands and moves toward the middle of the hall. 

"My tale is long and often grim," he says, raising his voice so that it carries clearly. "But if you would hear it, I will begin it."

He begins with when he and Duro left the Chatti, traveling west to aid other tribes in battle with Romans who had breached their territory. In a low voice, Nasir keeps up a running translation to Latin for the benefit of their companions. Agron describes their capture and enslavement, their eventual arrival at the house of Batiatus, and their initiation as gladiators. He speaks of Spartacus, of Crixus (who draws some unpleasant murmurs from the audience merely for having been a Gaul, let alone for his conflict with Agron and Duro), of Varro and Hamilcar and Oenomaus. His voice lifts triumphantly as he describes the uprising in the ludus, then drops as he bows his head and tells of Duro's death. 

Another wave of murmurs goes through the crowd--mourning, sympathy for Agron, pride that their lost kinsman died a warrior's death. Nasir glances at Adea, who sits near him. Her chin is lifted proudly and her mouth set in a firm line, but tears gleam in her eyes, and when Nasir touches her shoulder she raises her hand to clasp his gratefully.

Tancred raises his voice, addressing Agron. "And then?"

Agron hesitates, as if unsure how to proceed, and after a moment Rainer steps in. 

"Another tale for another night, I think," he says, clasping Agron's shoulder. "You must be in need of rest."

Agron nods and returns to the others. Nasir wordlessly reaches for his hand, and Agron clasps his gratefully.

They sleep in the hall that night, their group huddled close in one corner with many of Agron's kin sprawled around them. The next day, Nasir goes with Agron and Rainer to a plot of land a short distance away. It has the look of a small homestead, with a cottage and a barn surrounded by a wood fence, but the cottage has fallen into disrepair and the yard is empty of any livestock.

"This is where I was born," Agron tells Nasir softly, raising hand to the wood of the doorpost. 

"Adea came to live beneath my roof when maintaining this household alone became burdensome, but we held our family's claim to the land," Rainer says. "It's yours if you would have it; I know your father would have wanted it so."

"Gratitude," Agron replies. He steps into the house, and Nasir follows, looking about. The floor is solid and the walls look sturdy, but the roof is partially fallen in, and a thick layer of dust and grime has settled over everything.

"It will need repair," Agron says. "And likely expansion, if the others wish to stay with us. Yet at least we will not have to build from nothing."

Nasir touches the doorpost as Agron had moments ago. On the inside, there are designs carved into the wood, intertwining lines and images of fantastic beasts. He wonders if they were carved by Agron's father, if they have stories Agron could tell him.

"I have no memory of ever having a home such as this," he says softly. "The closest I've come to knowing such a thing has been the temple, or our tent."

Agron stares at him for a moment, then crosses to Nasir and sweeps him into his arms, looking down at him tenderly. 

"Then we will make this the home you deserve," he says.

Nasir puts his arms around Agron, stretching up for a kiss as they stand embracing in the doorway.

They begin work that same day, clearing away the debris from where the roof fell in and sweeping out the dust. Rainer makes it clear they are welcome to remain under his roof while they repair this one, but Nasir hopes that he and Agron, at least, will sleep here tonight--if the weather holds fair, the state of the roof will not trouble them, and even in disrepair the cottage will offer far more privacy than the hall.

Adea comes by during the day to exchange a few words with Agron, and he has a solemn look as he steps back into the house. 

"My kin plan to hold ceremony for Duro tonight," he tells Nasir. "Even absent a body to lay to rest, they would pay tribute to his memory."

He stoops to where his pack rests upon floor, and withdraws something from it--a small rectangle of red cloth, folded tightly. 

Nasir has seen it before.

_"May I ask one more thing of you?" Agron asks, seeming afraid that Nasir will refuse._

Stay, and you may ask anything of me, _Nasir wants to tell him. He does not; Agron is set upon path, and Nasir will not continue to beg him with no result. He nods wordlessly instead._

_Agron reaches into the pack that contains his most closely held possessions, always kept safe, carried carefully on every road they have taken by his own hands or those of one he trusts. He places what he takes from it in Nasir's hands--a small bundle wrapped in red cloth, the same fabric as that which Nasir wore around his wrist for a time._

_"I would have you safeguard this until you are beyond the Alps," Agron tells him in a low voice. "Then burn it, and bury the ashes."_

_Looking up into his eyes, Nasir can see this is a thing of grave importance to him. He swallows his wounded pride for a moment, closing his hands firmly around the bundle. "I will see it done," he promises._

_Agron lets out a small sigh, brings one hand up to curl around the back of Nasir's neck, and kisses his brow. "Gratitude," he whispers._

_His hands and lips linger on Nasir's skin, and Nasir wants to push him away, remind him that he chose something else over this. Yet more than that, he wants Agron, once more before they part from each other. He sets the bundle aside carefully before he raises his hands to Agron's shoulders and pushes him down on the bed, letting himself be pulled after._

Nasir walks with Agron to the edge of the village, toward what he at first takes for low hills. As they draw near, he sees that the hillsides have entrances cut into them, the stone carved with designs and letters he cannot read.

Agron's family stand in a semicircle around a small pyre, several of them holding torches. A few items of gold or bronze gleam on the pyre, but lying at its center are a wooden sword and round shield, small enough for a child's hand.

Nasir looks to Agron, who draws the red fabric from his cloak and unwraps it slowly. Three items are revealed among its folds--a smaller strip of fabric, also red, but thin and ragged, a small golden ring, and a single lock of dark hair, twisted and matted in the style many of the Chatti men seem to favor. Agron moves forward and lays these things on the pyre as well, then takes the torch that Tancred hands him. He sets the pyre alight, then steps back to stand between Nasir and his mother. 

Nasir watches Agron's face as the pyre burns; he maintains composure, but in his eyes Nasir sees pain that is familiar to him. Agron has carried that pain as long as Nasir has known him, as he carried these few mementos that were all he could save to bring some part of his brother home. Nasir doubts he will ever be entirely free of it, but as Agron closes his eyes and draws in a deep, shuddering breath, Nasir hopes that having finally brought Duro home will at least lighten his burden.

When the fire burns itself out, Tancred and a few others gather up the ashes and the items left in tribute. As they start to carry them toward one of the barrows, Nasir steps forward.

"Wait," he calls, and reaches for the bracelet that encircles his upper arm, tugging it off. "I would pay tribute as well," he says, and lays it on the pile.

Afterward, there is feasting in Duro's honor at the hall. Agron does not seem to have the heart to share in celebration; he stands to one side with a cup in hand, exchanging quiet words with those who approach him.

Nasir brings a drink to Adea, who smiles at him as she accepts it.

"You never knew my younger son, did you?" she asks.

Nasir shakes his head. "Only what Agron has told me of him. I know how close they held each other."

Adea lowers her gaze, her smile tinged with sadness. "When they were young, those who saw them together would often remark on how fortunate Duro was to have an older brother who took such good care of him. Yet I knew Duro took care of Agron as well, in his way." She looks back up at Nasir as she goes on. "I know what losing him must have done to Agron. In truth, I am not certain how he survived it, but I think some of the credit is yours, is it not?"

"Not mine alone," Nasir tells her. "Spartacus was as a brother to him, and gave him a cause to fight for. I--"

"--gave me something to live for beyond the battlefield," Agron says, coming up on Nasir's other side and looking at him warmly. "I would not be here now, were it not for him."

Adea looks at him fondly and reaches to take Nasir's hand, pressing it gently. "Gratitude."

Nasir smiles at her, and she raises her hand to Agron's cheek for a moment before she moves past them, going to stand near Rainer.

Nasir lays a hand on Agron's shoulder, and Agron turns to face him. He puts an arm around Nasir and presses his hand against the small of Nasir's back, quiet heat in his eyes. Nasir reads the unspoken request there, and they slip from the hall quietly.

They're barely past the threshold of their home ( _their home_ , Nasir thinks again, savoring it) when Agron pushes Nasir against the wall and goes to his knees. His hands fumble with Nasir's belt and Nasir reaches to help him. As soon as his cock is free Agron pushes his hands out of the way and leans in. Nasir runs fingers through Agron's hair and lets his eyes fall closed, crying out softly as the warmth of Agron's mouth envelops him. He knows Agron's moods and signals well enough to know he doesn't want Nasir to hold back, so he doesn't, tugging at Agron's hair and bucking against his mouth.

It's all too brief a time before Agron pulls off, pressing his face against Nasir's belly and kissing the skin below his navel. Nasir reaches down and takes hold of his chin, tipping Agron's face up to his. He slides his hand up over Agron's cheek and Agron turns into the touch, closing his eyes and nuzzling Nasir's palm. 

"Up," Nasir says, just a hint of force in his tone, and Agron stands at once. Nasir curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss, then releases him and turns to the pile of their belongings in the corner. 

The work of a few moments has their bedroll and blankets spread out on the floor, and they rid each other of clothing just as quickly. At Nasir's urging, Agron stretches out on his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms. Nasir brings hands to Agron's thighs to urge his legs apart, kneeling between them. He reaches for their vial of oil and with his other hand caresses Agron's skin, sweeping across his broad shoulders and down his back, then over the firm swell of his ass. He brings oil-slick fingers to Agron's entrance and rubs gently, and it's not until Agron throws his head back and gasps out a plea that he presses in.

Agron bucks and curses under him. He's often impatient with this, at times seeming to actually crave the pain that comes with not being prepared thoroughly enough before being taken. Sometimes Nasir will give in and give it to him, but not tonight. He leans down and presses a kiss to the nape of Agron's neck as he moves his fingers, working him open slowly.

At length, Nasir withdraws his fingers and brings his cock into position, pushing in with a single smooth motion. The feeling of it makes his breath catch, tight and hot and unbelievably good. Agron rocks back against him with a moan, pushing up on his elbows. Nasir leans over him, bracing himself with one arm and sliding the other around Agron's chest. 

Agron brings one hand up to clutch at the arm around his chest. " _Nasir_ \--" he moans, voice low and fierce.

"I have you," Nasir replies softly, and kisses the space between Agron's shoulder blades. "I have you." He kisses Agron's back again, then rests his forehead there as he thrusts, drawing soft cries from both of them.

Nasir loves Agron like this--loves him always, but whenever he lets himself be this open, this vulnerable, Nasir is both enthralled by it and honored by the trust Agron places in him. He mouths at the skin of Agron's neck and shoulders as they move together. Agron tilts his head to give Nasir better access, pushing back to meet every thrust.

Nasir pushes back up on his knees, tugging Agron with him so that he can take hold of Agron's cock. Agron moans and thrusts into his grip, wrapping his own hand over Nasir's. Their entwined fingers move together on Agron's cock in rhythm with Nasir's movements inside him, and they finish within moments of each other, Agron letting out a loud cry, Nasir biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

Afterward, they lie side-by-side with a blanket drawn up to their waists. Agron tucks one arm around Nasir and reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together.

"I used to dream of this," he says softly. "Of making it back here with you at my side, of having a proper home of our own. Yet I tried not to fix all my hopes on it coming about. Perhaps I was afraid to let myself want it too badly."

Nasir tucks his head against Agron's shoulder, squeezing his fingers. "And now here we are, after all."

Agron hums softly and kisses the top of his head, and Nasir nestles against him, letting his eyes fall closed. Tonight they will sleep together in their new home for the first time; tomorrow there will be work to be done.

***

Much of the work to be done repairing the cottage falls to Nasir, with help from Adal and several of Agron's kin. Agron remains unable to grasp any tool for long without his hands aching and his grip failing him, yet he gives aid where he can.

Their companions continue to shelter under Rainer's roof for the time being. On the second day after their arrival in the village, Laeta comes to see the work being done, and she and Agron discuss the future.

"I've spoken with the others," she tells him. "We all plan to stay together, wherever we make our home."

Agron nods. "We have land enough to build, here," he says. "Another cottage, perhaps two if we need more room as the children grow."

She looks over at him, smiling. "There was a time not so long ago when I could not have imagined hearing such offer from you."

"As I could not have imagined extending it," Agron replies. "If the past few years have taught me anything, it's that I have no control over what fate brings into my life, only how well I greet it."

They begin building the second cottage, and making plans for other things as well. None of them is a true farmer, but they pool what knowledge they have--what Agron remembers from helping his father and uncle with the harvest as a boy, what Nasir knows from his days seeing that his master's villa ran smoothly, what Laeta learned as the wife of a grain merchant--and they have any number of eager teachers among Agron's kin. Rainer makes them a gift of two young goats, and learning how to tend them is a venture much like learning to farm.

Agron's kin continue to give the travelers hospitality and aid. They are always welcome at the hall, and often receive visitors bringing things they may need. Aside from Adea, their most frequent visitor is Tancred, who's always eager to help with any task that needs to be done. He is friendly to all Agron's companions, but seems particularly taken with Sibyl. Agron cannot tell if she returns Tancred's interest at all; even if she does, she may yet be too deeply in mourning for Gannicus to act upon it.

The way Agron's family has embraced them eases their transition to life among the Chatti. Not all are initially welcoming, but Rainer's standing in the village ensures that no one troubles the newcomers, and Agron hopes the other villagers will warm to them eventually. He believes Nasir, Laeta, and Sibyl, between the three of them, could win nearly anyone over in time.

There are good days, many of them. There are days when Agron feels satisfied with the work he is able to do, content with the life they are building, and immensely grateful they've made it here. Days when he teases Laeta and Belesa and cheerfully bears their teasing in return, helps watch over the children and gladly satisfies their constant demand for more stories, falls to bed with Nasir at day's end and finds again and again that they do not need the thrill of battle to rise to great heights in each other's arms.

And then there are the days when all he can see is what his hands can no longer do, when every step he takes seems weighted down, when he cannot help but think, over and over, that he has no right to be here smiling and laughing and embracing his lover when Duro and Spartacus, Mira and Donar and so many others are gone from this world.

It helps to be reminded that he is not alone in this. The others all carry similar burdens and understand the weight he struggles under. To have Laeta's hand come to rest gently on his shoulder while he speaks of Spartacus or wake to Nasir's arms around him when his dreams turn dark does not lift the weight from his shoulders, yet it makes it that much easier to bear.

One evening Agron finds the barn door open after all should have been made secure. He goes to close it, then hears a noise from inside and goes to investigate.

He finds Sibyl inside, sitting against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. She's weeping, and for a moment Agron doesn't know if he should ask what is wrong, withdraw and leave her in peace, or go fetch Laeta. Sibyl catches sight of him starts slightly, then hastily tries to compose herself.

"Apologies," Agron says. "I did not mean to startle." 

Sibyl sniffs and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I did not think to see anyone in the barn at this hour," she says.

Agron moves closer, lowering himself to the ground where she sits. "What troubles you?"

Sibyl looks at the ground, biting her lip. "Tancred kissed me," she says at length.

Agron's first thought is that it must have been an unwelcome advance, and he scowls. "I will have words with him," he says darkly.

Sibyl looks up, blinking, then shakes her head as she realizes his train of thought. "No, I--" she hesitates for a moment, then says in a soft voice, "I wanted him to."

For a girl to be in tears because a man she wanted to kiss her did so is a thing Agron might once have dismissed as yet another sign of a woman's mind being impossible to understand. He knows better now, and thinks he understands Sibyl's reaction.

"There is nothing wrong in that," he tells her softly.

"Is there not?" Sibyl asks, fresh tears spilling. "To find myself in the arms of another, so soon after Gannicus--"

She breaks off, looking away, and Agron lays a hand on her shoulder.

"Gannicus gave his life for you to live free," he reminds her. "He would not want you to turn from any happiness on his behalf."

"Your words have the ring of truth," Sibyl says, wiping her eyes again. "Yet I still feel as though I have betrayed him."

"The only betrayal would be to forget him," Agron says. "And I doubt there is any fear of that."

Sibyl shakes her head at once. "I will never forget him," she says fervently.

Agron nods. "As I will never forget my brother, who gave his life to save mine. To embrace what joy comes into our lives is not to forget or betray them, but to honor their sacrifice."

These are things he has told himself many times, yet struggles to truly take to heart. Hearing another give voice to the same guilt that plagues him throws the folly of it into sharp relief. He is certain that if their dead could appear before them and speak, Gannicus would tell Sibyl not to weep over his memory when she could find happiness with another. And by the same token, he knows Duro would call him a fucking idiot for ever thinking that because he lived and others died, he does not deserve the good things he has now.

Sibyl smiles at him, then leans over and presses a swift kiss to his cheek. "Gratitude," she says, and gathers herself to stand. "I should find Tancred; I fear my tears were quite an unpleasant surprise for him."

"I can imagine," Agron says, standing. "Tell him that if he ever makes you cry for any other reason, he'll answer to me. And to Laeta and Nasir, which he may find more of a threat."

As Sibyl goes to find Tancred, Agron goes in search of Nasir. He finds him helping Caelia prepare their evening meal and comes up behind him, wrapping arms about his waist. Nasir shows no surprise at the sudden embrace, only covers Agron's hands with his own and leans back against Agron's chest. Agron grips tightly, burying his face in Nasir's hair, and Nasir cranes his neck to look at him.

"Is all well?" he asks softly. 

"As well as may be," Agron replies, and kisses his temple. "I love you," he murmurs.

Nasir smiles brightly, leaning up to kiss Agron's mouth. "And I you."

***

Sibyl and Tancred are married in the spring.

Their first winter in Germania was long and difficult. There are many things Nasir has come to love about his new home, but its climate is not among them. When at last the first tender green shoots began to creep up through the ground, he could have wept for joy.

Now there are flowers everywhere--dotting the hills and fields, gathered and strung into garlands throughout the village, plaited into the women's hair. Nasir even sports a few blossoms in his hair, having given into Sophia's plea to let her braid them in. Agron had burst out laughing when he entered the room to find Nasir sitting patiently on the ground as Sophia did her work, but there is nothing of mockery in the way he looks at Nasir from across the room now.

Rainer's hall has been lined with long tables on either side, with a wide clear space for dancing in the middle. At the moment, Agron is on one side of the hall sharing wine and conversation with Belesa, Nasir on the other with Laeta and Caelia. Caelia has Vitus in her arms, swaying gently in time with the music and looking wistfully out at the dancers.

"If you wish to dance, I will take him for a while," Nasir says, holding out his arms, and Caelia smiles gratefully as she hands her son over. Nasir gets Vitus settled in his arms, and the boy goes on placidly gnawing the wooden toy clutched in his hand. Caelia joins the dancers, quickly getting pulled into a line of women dancing hand-in-hand. They form a circle around Sibyl and Tancred, who stand in the center of the floor, both of them looking radiant with joy.

"I have rarely seen Sibyl so happy," Laeta says with a touch of wistfulness. "It lifts the heart."

Nasir nods in agreement, watching the dance with a smile.

Across the way, Belesa now has an arm about the shoulders of a fair-haired young woman. She bends to whisper in the girl's ear, then says something to Agron that makes him laugh, full-throated and joyful. Belesa and the girl move away, and Agron threads his way across the floor toward Nasir and Laeta, bringing his cup with him. 

"Your spirits seem almost as high as those of our newlyweds," Laeta comments as he reaches them. 

Agron puts an arm around her and tugs her against his side, grinning. "We should have weddings more often. I'm sure I have a cousin somewhere who would suit you."

Laeta wrinkles her nose and pushes him away. "Nasir, give me the babe and take this drunken fool away before he tries to marry me off."

Nasir hands Vitus over as Agron drapes himself over Nasir's shoulders. He plucks the half-empty cup from Agron's hand and takes a sip, curling his other arm about Agron's waist.

They make their way out of the hall, passing other friends and family along the way. Adea smiles fondly at them from where she sits talking with a few other women, and a handful of children run past shrieking with laughter, Nikolaos and Sophia among them. Adal has been standing in one spot for some time, stealing uncertain glances at a girl near his own age; Agron gives him a little shove toward her as he and Nasir pass, assuming an innocent look when Adal glares at him.

They emerge from the hall into a fair, clear night with stars bright overhead, and walk home at a leisurely pace, snatches of music and talk and laughter drifting after them.

With everyone else still at the hall, home is dark, and quiet but for occasional soft bleating from the goats in their pen. As Agron steps inside to light a lamp, Nasir pauses on the threshold, savoring the warm air and the smell of growing things.

There will be another long, cold winter eventually, and as surely as Nasir knows that, he knows there will continue to be days when the past weighs on all of them. There will be days when their old wounds ache and all their many losses surround them like a legion of ghosts. 

And just as spring follows winter, there will be days like this one, and days full of the simple pleasures of the life they have made here, and nights when he and Agron find all the comfort and strength they need in each other's arms.

Agron comes up behind him, one hand settling on his waist, the other brushing Nasir's hair back so Agron can kiss the side of his neck. Nasir leans into him and reaches back with one arm, running his fingers through Agron's hair. They stay like that for a few moments before Nasir turns, curling his hand around the back of Agron's neck to pull him down into a deep, lingering kiss.

When the kiss breaks, Agron takes both Nasir's hands in his, and Nasir twines their fingers together, feeling the now-familiar scars against his palms. They smile at each other, and Agron leans down to kiss Nasir once more before he steps back, tugging him through the doorway and into their home.


End file.
